I was sitting at my desk a few moments ago, pretending to do some paperwork while my brain was off on another flight of fancy. I don't remember exactly what i was thinking about, although it was most likely along the larger lines of my life in general and the characters in it. There was probably some art in there too, since I've been doodling in the margins of my desk calendar all day. All of a sudden I missed my dad really bad, because we used to email back and forth about this kinda stuff all day long; and for a little while we'd make our escape together from our separate sucky offices into subjects like art, going for rides in the jeep, or just what the soup on the menu was that day.  I guess we can't do that anymore.

He's gone. Like, really really gone. It's like I just realized that all over again.

I went to the bathroom to calm myself down and conceal the fact that i was a little overcome; and then I returned to my desk and had a sip of my coffee.

"Boy, I miss the way that tastes, scootch.... you know, that's the stuff you really remember." I can almost hear him now, like he was here in the present with me; the way he'd say it wistfully, with his crooked grin, as if Dunkies was the whole of what made life worth living. And then he'd tell me not to worry so much, to do just one thing at a time, to enjoy the small things that came along. He was so very good at reminding me of that.

I don't know why these things come on me so suddenly, as if the whole of grief rolls over me in a big, gorgeous wave and then is gone again. My only guess is that the human heart is never constant. I'm not into self-pity. I know from experience that life is too short for that kind of business. I've already endured the loss of three deeply beloved people this year alone: one that never was, one that will come back someday, and one that's gone for at least this lifetime. So yes, I grieve.... but in a much bigger way, I still remember a great deal of what makes life worth living.

The other day, I didn't have much to do. Work was dull, the air was dull, boredom prevailed. I left my office a little early, being overly air-conditioned and unsupervised for the day, and trekked up the street a block or two to wait for the bus.

It was a trafficky day on on Market St, and the corner I was standing at had plenty of vehicle watching opportunities while I waited. Buses, trucks, zippy compact cars, all in a melee of steel and gasoline trying to get somewhere else. The light turned red.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw something emerge out of the traffic and bounce up onto the sidewalk, not a dozen feet from where i was standing. A child's ball- one of those ones little kids are always trying to chuck at one another's heads- with no child immediately or obviously in pursuit. I hustled over to investigate... and then realizing, looked into the traffic rolling along beside me.

He was little, probably about eight, no taller than the bumper of the box trucks and SUV's that were stopped in line at the light. He scampered through the two lanes, cleared one, and squeezed between the bumpers of the two cars immediate. Chasing his ball, which had rolled out into the street.... unsupervised...... no adult or guardian in sight.

Bad thing! Bad, bad thing!! My brain said in an instant.

Where the hell is his mum??

Where i work, we see the worst of the worst cases of kids whose families are too strained or underpriveleged to care for them, or too neglectful to bother trying. We compensate for the damage done by providing plenty of structure and nurturing- to the point where our small clients are rarely ever left unattended- and occasionally we have to hold kids to keep them from hurting themselves or others. Restraints are both physically as well as emotionally draining and potentially dangerous, so I loathe to physically handle any kid under my care. I especially don't with one i don't even know, who obviously belongs to someone else. I don't like messing with kids at all. Hah, I don't even like kids, really! But for this I made exception.

He looked a little bewildered at me as I got hold of him firmly but gently by his shoulders. "Whooaaa there, little man.  Holey moley, do you know what you just did???" I don't think he understood me at all, and squinted up at me as I scolded him. "That's very dangerous, running into the street that way, and you're lucky to be standing here. DANGEROUS, do you hear? You're also lucky, because today I'm your fairy godmother, and I'm going to teach you the right way to cross the street. Then you can have your ball back."  He still looked confused, had barely a clue about what i was saying, but seemed to get the jist that he had made a big oops and this wierdo lady had caught him red-handed. He smirked at me as i lead him up to the corner.

Once there, we waited for the light to change again. I pushed the walk button, and pointed across the street the little lit-up man in the box on the pole across the way. I held out my hand  to invite him to take it, and he looked at me funny. I gently took his upper wrist in my hand. Then we  made sure to look both ways, and crossed the street.

When we got across I let him go, and walked behind him up to his front gate. I tossed him his ball and smiled, and he ran off into his backyard.

 Dumb little kid, geez.

... A squirrel paintbrush.

For the sake of nostalgia, and a desperate effort to preserve my creative history, i've posted the finished pieces from my senior illustration thesis in the xanga photolog thing. Looking back at my work from five years ago, I can see there's a lot I would have done differently, and a lot that I discovered in-process which still influences my art here and now. It's also pretty much the summation of my 4-year existence in the massart illustration department, and victory among the six more-or-less kickass survivors of that grueling year (we began with twenty). I also completed sixteen more finished pieces than any of my peers, most of 'em being portfolio worthy, and not all of them being entirely half-assed. You all can go look if you want.

Zen

Your voice startles me.
By evening I have fallen
Footfirst out of the world.

Watching your wrist move
Steadfastly, compelling,
I am altered, and translated again.

It was Zen, you said,
As you caressed the paper
With coils of entwining ink.

In awe,
I touched your hands to mine.

I never asked for you.
You waited in the other room
Drawing circles until I wandered in.

Once ago, we drank tea
And quietly wondered; once ago
I painted this for you.

---

After Sylvia

Through the clean halls of our apartment you storm
A banshee in the gale, hurling apples
My piano, a novel, a tear in the screen door
You let the wind blow over my civility.
Now you've done it.
I can't even find our room, and eerie sounds
Echo through the toppled bookshelves, the streetlight
Glare in your gaze, dreams shuffle out
Like unwelcome visitors
Down the damp sidewalk into the drizzling rain.

I broke my mirror this morning, and the empty frame was just that.
You wait in the hall in jeans, socks, slouching; i wait
Afghan-wrapped, mascara stained,
Frozen to your grey stare, the floor suddenly unwashed,
The empty pantry, the dishes undone, the bills unpaid,
And every word that is left unsaid.

---

Utah

Canyonside, a coyote peers edgewise.
The best place to turn by evening
Is east, where red rocks
Smoulder at a sign of night.
At your back you may find
The last of this sunset
Petroglyphic,
Wrought in dust and rimrock.
By firelight, in quiet
The stars have their way
Through the blue of the dark.

---

Circles

In morning my mind curls
    around the jasmine air
    and waits for night returning.
Somewhere, afar
    there rests the arc of a temple
    and the weight of ancient stones.
Here, my home is circular-
    my windows curved in squareness
    a mound of light rolls across the carpet.
Once i traced those immense doors
    and relished the shape of stone
    gliding over a bent page.
Then i dreamt in evening
    of the hum of an orient train
    and yellow Byzantine moon.
Rome has never fallen
    Empires only meander east
    Around the circle of history.

   

Oh, you are!
Yes, yes you are, pretty [strange] lobster!

See this review at Ask A Ninja.com.
"It's like a neverending story.... but with no Luck Dragon."

The better to roll you off a precipice, my dear.

MRROOooooooowwwwwrrrrrrrr.......

Thanks, nataliedee.com!